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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382073">Apple Cinnamon French Toast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Negligent_Dad/pseuds/Negligent_Dad'>Negligent_Dad</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Peanut Butter and Jam Sandwiches [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And also back on his depressive bullshit, Angst, Conner Kent is a Sad Boy, Conner being dumb because he obviously needs therapy, Gen, Light Angst, Lois Lane is a Good Mom, Oblivious Parent Clark Kent, Whump, but hey, you wouldn't be here if you didn't know that already</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:00:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Negligent_Dad/pseuds/Negligent_Dad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark already loves this baby and the baby hasn't even met him yet.</p><p>He feels a little dumb doing it, but he doesn't care. Conner hugs the tiny figurine of Superman and whispers just loud enough that only it can hear: “I wish I was your real son. I wish you loved me like I know you'll love this kid.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Conner Kent &amp; Clark Kent, Conner Kent &amp; Lois Lane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Peanut Butter and Jam Sandwiches [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>283</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What was meant to be the third work in this series but I never got around to writing it before and now Family Jam is chapter two of Peanut Butter Problems so this is just the sequel now, I guess.</p><p>No mean comments, please!</p><p>Let me know if I've triggered catharsis tears 😉</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It begins like any other ordinary day. Kon gets up. Makes breakfast, showers and dresses, cleans his teeth. But unlike any other ordinary day, Clark stops him before he can text Tim to ask if he wants to hang out tomorrow.</p><p>“It's nothing bad,” he's quick to reassure with a smile as Lois emerges from the kitchen with two mugs of steaming hot coffee for herself and Clark.</p><p>She shakes her head in confirmation. “It's not,” she reaffirms. “The opposite, actually.”</p><p>The two of them are wearing matching smiles, the kind that can barely be contained. They take up seats at the breakfast table and Conner slides into his own much more nervously, his attention fully on them. They sit like two people ready to vibrate out of their own skin, their anticipation showing.</p><p>There's nothing to apprehensive about, he chastises himself. He's nearly fourteen. He's been living with Clark and Lois for years. And yet, that eternal kernel of doubt, the little devil in the back of his head whispers that they're finally sick of him. They're kicking him out or sending him back to the dusty halls of The Watchtower. They wouldn't be excited about that, his rational brain tells him, but that darker part of himself still struggles to swallow past the fearful lump in his throat.</p><p>His fingers twitch anxiously.</p><p>Across from him, Clark and Lois have their own fingers intertwined. They're grinning at each other now, a look akin to smitten, but not quite there… it's not quite right. They're happy and so he should be too, but Kon doesn't like surprises. There's too much uncertainty.</p><p>It's Clark who breaks the buzzing silence, filled with elated electricity, unable to hold back any longer.</p><p>Two little words tumble out of his mouth. Two little words that rock Conner's whole world like he's confined to a boat during a storm.</p><p>“Kon,” he says, all teeth. Too perfect, too happy. “Lois and I… well, we're pregnant<em>.”</em></p><p>Oh.</p><p>Kon's stomach does a back-flip. The two of them are still smiling, grinning, awaiting some kind of happy reaction.</p><p>The smile he manages feels paper thin.</p><p>“Congratulations,” he says, the implications sinking in deeper and deeper until he's so queasy he's sure he'll need a toilet any minute.</p><p>“Thank you,” Lois acknowledges graciously. “His name is Jonathan, after Clark's father.”</p><p>“He? It's a boy?” Conner squeaks.</p><p>Clark's grin broadens. “That's right,” he says. “Our little Jon.”</p><p>In his chest, Conner's heart suddenly feels as though Clark has driven a stake straight through him.</p><p>~</p><p>Kon can do nothing but sit on his bed and tremble.</p><p>His head hurts. It's pounding so hard he's scared it's going to jump right off his neck.</p><p>
  <em>They're having a baby.</em>
</p><p>It hadn't even been a passing thought, once.</p><p>The implications of it aren't lost on Conner.</p><p>In his life, Kon's cried enough tears. He holds them back as long as he can, but he never was strong enough. He never was going to be as strong and brave as Superman.</p><p>
  <em>Conner isn't good enough.</em>
</p><p>He buries his face in his hands and sobs.</p><p>The truth is right there, staring him down. It's a vice he can't escape, a problem he can't control. Every vile, terrifying thought swims up from the depths.</p><p>
  <em>They're replacing him.</em>
</p><p>They're replacing him with a kid that's actually going to be <em>theirs.</em></p><p>Suddenly, memories of The Watchtower come flooding back. What wasn't a possibility less than an hour ago is suddenly a very real one. That's where they're going to send him, he thinks. They'll need to make space for the baby, they'll need space for their <em>real </em>kid.</p><p>Through his own anxiety, he laughs without mirth, running a hand through his short locks. It's a little hysterical sounding, but there's no one with him to hear it.</p><p>
  <em>God, he is so scared.</em>
</p><p>Intrusive thoughts each battle for dominance in his head. <em>Was he just being naive all along? Was he just a temporary stand in the whole time?</em> After everything, he doesn't want to believe it, but each thought buries itself inside his head and refuses to come out again.</p><p>~</p><p>“How was school?” Clark asks from the couch as Conner closes the door behind him and kicks off his shoes, leaving them in the entryway without bothering to put them away properly.</p><p>A wave of dark hair is all Kon can see from the hall, but it's a familiar enough sight. Once, the sight of Superman had scared him, then it had been one of the cornerstones of Conner's life. Now, all he can feel as he stares at the back of Clark's head is righteous anger and irritation.</p><p>“Fine,” he grunts, reaching for the carton of milk in the fridge and downing it all right then and there.</p><p>The monotone syllable earns him a frown over the top of the wide paper, two piercing blue eyes following him around the room as he goes for the pantry next.</p><p>“Don't spoil your dinner,” the older man chastises as Kon reaches for the large packet of cookies at the back of the cupboard.</p><p>The sound of his voice grates on Conner's nerves.</p><p>“Whatever,” he huffs, annoyed, tossing away the empty milk and shoving a cookie in his mouth whole.</p><p>This time, there's a more distinct glare. “Conner,” Clark barks, but it's accompanied by a twitching eyebrow lined with concern. The glare falters. “… is everything alright?”</p><p>In return, he simply grunts.</p><p>Reaching for the doorknob to his bedroom, he disappears before Clark can riddle through his behavior.</p><p>The quiet solitude of The Watchtower had been deafening. At this moment, though, silence feels like a blessing.</p><p>It doesn't last as long as he hopes.</p><p>Lois calls him for dinner a few hours later, poking her head around the edge of his door.</p><p>“Hey honey,” she starts, softly and kindly. “Dinner's up.”</p><p>Pressed up against his pillows, Conner tries not to huff. The fight has all but gone out of him. The need to rage against something and someone swallowed up by the enormous wave of fear and darkness. Momentarily, he glances out his window up toward the stars; <em>he'll be up there too, soon.</em></p><p>“I'm not hungry,” he mumbles truthfully, glancing down at the action figure of Superman in his hands.</p><p>It's been a long time since he sought solace in the old set of plastic Justice League figures, but he just needs something to cling to right now. Lois and Clark weren't always there, he reminds himself. The action figures, however? The little plastic people with their movable arms and their permanent, plastic smiles? He's always managed to find some comfort in them. Unlike their real life counterparts, they've never abandoned him before.</p><p>Lois frowns, concern marring her face as she pushes the door open a little wider and enters in.</p><p>“Everything alright, Conner?” she asks, perching on the edge of his bed by his red socked feet, toes curled under.</p><p>He tries for a reassuring smile.<em> He just wants it to be over already</em><em>―</em><em>h</em><em>e wants the gavel to fall, the other shoe to drop. He's sick of sitting in limbo, stuck in purgatory between knowing they'll no longer want him when the baby arrives and wanting them to keep loving him forever.</em></p><p>“Yeah,” he replies, glancing up, then back down again. “I'm sorry.”</p><p>Lois simply shakes her head. “No, there's no need for apologies here. I'm your mom, I'm allowed to worry over you.”</p><p>If only that were true.</p><p>Like the true, investigative reporter she is, Lois doesn't stop there. Her eyes follow his down to the well-loved Superman between his fingers, red and blue paint faded and scratched off in places.</p><p>“Did… something happen with Clark?” she asks, coming to what she must assume is a logical conclusion. It's… not entirely wrong, but.</p><p>“No,” he returns, shaking his head. “We're fine.”</p><p>He must not be too terribly convincing, because her brow furrows a little more.</p><p>“Are you sure?” she presses. “Because I'd believe you if you said he put his foot in his mouth.”</p><p>The turn of phrase brings a faint smile to his lips, eliciting a short chuckle.</p><p>“No,” he reaffirms. “I just… had a bad day, I guess.”</p><p>Lois' expression lingers only a moment more. Then, she pats his knee gently and pushes off the bedspread.</p><p>“Come on,” she says, stretching out her hand to him. “Just try and eat a little bit. For me, yeah?”</p><p>Gingerly, he takes her hand and allows her to lead him out to the dinning room.</p><p>If this next few months will be the last few months of him having a family, Kon is going to make every minute count.</p><p>~</p><p>The first trip back to The Watchtower is disorientating and it knocks the wind out of him. It's quiet, just how he remembers it being. The bustling sounds of Metropolis are far away and only the faint and constant hum of life-support can be heard.</p><p>Kon's room is exactly the same as he remembers it.</p><p>The action figures in his suitcase are the first to perch upon his dresser, looking exactly as they did all those years ago, albeit slightly scratched and faded.</p><p>“I don't like it here,” he tells Batman plainly, fingering the fabric of the cape between his fingers before setting the Dark Knight down next to Wonder Woman. “I almost forgot how hollow and empty this place was… but I can't go into foster care. Lois and Clark would never let that happen. Most of the Justice League probably think it would be unsafe for me to be around regular people anyway.”</p><p>Some days he wonders if any of them regret waking him up and rescuing him from CADMUS. Some days he wonders if he wouldn't rather go back.</p><p>Over the course of several weeks, he shuffles more and more of his things from his bedroom in Metropolis to his new-slash-old bedroom in The Watchtower. It renders his room looking practically unlived in.</p><p>Clark even comments on it one day, praising him for managing to keep his room so tidy, with a <em>sport </em>tacked on the end of the sentence and ruffling Kon's hair in passing.</p><p>The next week, the three of them visit the senior Kent's to break the good news. There's kissing and crying and hugging, but Kon makes sure to hang back and stay out of the way. It's so much the way he used to be as a child that it almost <em>hurts</em>, but the difference is that he is no longer clingy or needy anymore―he just needs to make sure to enjoy the good times while they last, before they break the god-awful news he <em>knows </em>is coming; <em>“Well, Conner, you see, there are only two bedrooms in the apartment, so we're going to need you to move out of your room for our little Jon. The boy needs a nursery, after all.”</em></p><p>He ends up outside with the cows, the wind blowing the scent of hay and farm animal all around him as he plops himself at the base of the big oak.</p><p>Undoubtedly, he'll miss this. The smell of earth and the wind on his skin, the grass between his toes and the realness of it all, so unlike that of the sanitary metal and cold halls awaiting him in space.</p><p>The adults make merry inside and, alone, Conner finally allows himself a few tears. Hopefully, if he gets them all out now, he won't have to shed anymore once he's back up amongst the stars.</p><p>~</p><p>Slowly but surely, the congratulations come in. Toys for the baby in the mail, clothing, diapers and other odds and ends begin to fill the house.</p><p>Clark and Lois spend a whole weekend trying to figure out how to set up the baby crib in the lounge, quibbling over the incomprehensible instructions. They don't notice when Conner disappears for four hours.</p><p>“I wish it could just be the three of us,” he whispers to his Superman action figure in The Watchtower, smiling up at him, all white teeth and courage and bravery and righteousness. “I wish things didn't have to change. I wish you weren't having that stupid baby.”</p><p>He feels a little dumb doing it, but he doesn't care. Conner hugs the tiny figurine of Superman and whispers just loud enough that only it can hear: “I wish I was your real son. I wish you loved me like I know you'll love <em>this </em>kid.”</p><p>Jealousy writhes in his chest. The knowledge that this baby won't have to earn Superman's trust. Won't have to try hard to earn his love. Won't have to spend months under the crushing disappointment of knowing he's not <em>good </em>enough for Superman. Won't have to walk on eggshells around the man, or get yelled at multiple times just for <em>existing. </em>This baby won't have to plead with someone, <em>anyone </em>to have a family. No, this baby is going to have a wonderful life and he probably won't even appreciate it because he didn't have to earn it like Kon did.</p><p>Clark <em>already </em>loves this baby and the baby hasn't even met him yet.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Conner makes several choices.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to everyone who left me a comment. I went back and reread them all twice or more, but sadly, Christmas and New Years and 2020 has stolen all my spoons (figuratively) so I apologize for not being able to reply. Just know that I LOVE YOU &lt;3 and appreciated the comments immensely :)</p>
<p>I may end up grouping this entire fic into one chapter as well when I am done, just a heads up there.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kon picks up photography. Tim teaches him. Tim is good at photography. He shows Conner multiple different types of cameras, how to take different kinds of shots, how to create different kinds of compositions. Conner learns it all just so he can save the memories. After all, memories will be all he will have soon.</p>
<p>Whenever Clark or Lois smile, he's there, snapping pictures. Their faces freeze in joy, something for Conner to cling to.</p>
<p>The three of them head out on a picnic one spring day and Conner doesn't <em>stop </em>taking pictures. Lois is showing now. There's a slight bulge distending her belly. In Conner's favorite photo, Clark has his arm around Lois' shoulders and he has the shot angled so that she doesn't look expecting at all. It's a beautiful picture. When he looks at it, if he tries real hard, he can almost pretend life will go on as normal, just the three of them. Reality puts a stopper in his dreaming all too soon.</p>
<p>Kon buys a photo album and carefully gets each picture printed, storing them away for later. He's sure he'll need them soon, on especially lonely nights.</p>
<p>There's a lot to do before the baby comes.</p>
<p>Clark hardly has time for him now. It's so familiar in that horribly nostalgic kind of way. Attention from Clark, Kon has found, is like an elastic band. When their relationship was non-existent, it was stretched so wide it would frequently snap. Slowly, but surely, as they'd grown closer, the tension had lessened, until the point where Clark was <em>making </em>time. Now, with all that Clark is doing preparing for the baby's arrival, he almost doesn't dare test the tension of Clark's rubber band; if the man looks even vaguely busy, Conner doesn't even bother. It reminds him of days up in The Watchtower, slinking around when there were others present, avoiding Superman at all costs for fear of being sighted and then shouted at for no reason at all.</p>
<p>It's… it's fine, he thinks. Maybe it's better to get used to this again now. Perhaps it's best if he just takes what he can get―like the picnic. Despite everything, the impending ending coming for him, the final word on the last page of the chapter spelling out Conner's time with the Kents, he has to admit things are not all as bad as they could be. After all, he had several wonderful years with Clark and Lois. Conner had had the privilege of The Watchtower halls being a faded memory and he had gotten to make new ones with people he loved like family; they will always be his family, even if he is just a stand-in for theirs.</p>
<p>Still, though he is thankful for time spent with Clark and Lois, it is hard to accept how soon he'll be leaving them.</p>
<p>Conner starts spending more time alone in his almost empty room. Where once, Clark likely would have found this odd, the man didn't seem to notice these days.</p>
<p>Jimmy, one of Clark and Lois' co-workers catches him by surprise one day when he comes over for a visit.</p>
<p>“Are you excited to be a big brother, Conner?” he asks with a grin, relaxed on the couch with a beer in hand. Ordinarily, Conner enjoyed the presence of the red-haired man, but today he feels little more than resentment toward the man for bringing up the baby <em>again.</em></p>
<p>Kon freezes, partway through sipping his orange juice. Every gaze in the room turns expectantly.</p>
<p>To Jimmy, of course, the cover-story was that Conner was Clark's illegitimate son born to a high-school sweetheart down in Kansas. Clark, naturally, didn't know of his existence until a few years ago. It was a nicer pill to swallow than the truth, at least, so how could he possibly expect Jimmy to know that Kon wasn't <em>really </em>going to be a big brother. Maybe the cover story would change again when he returned to The Watchtower. Clark could say that Conner simply went back to his non-existent mother. Or maybe even to live with Clark's parents.</p>
<p>His next words are chosen very carefully. “I'm sure he's going to be a great kid,” he says with a broad, toothy smile, feeling entirely empty and hollow on the inside as he does his very best to pretend otherwise.</p>
<p>The adults accept his answer, nodding and sipping at their various beverages before talk begins anew.</p>
<p>An ache in Conner's chest makes itself painfully known.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The said ache in his sternum causes him to eat less. He's never really hungry and he's always tired. At CADMUS he was never tired. At CADMUS, nothing hurt.</p>
<p>When he can be bothered, he takes trips out of the city and visits the wide open fields. Conner has to savour this, while he still can.</p>
<p>Kon disappears for almost a whole day. Clark and Lois had been talking about the baby in the lounge when he left. Somehow, they're still talking about the baby, but have migrated to the kitchen.</p>
<p>Conner rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>They don't ask him where he's been.</p>
<p>Clark's first question to him upon spotting Conner is: “Do you think little Jon would like red or blue shoes better?”</p>
<p>Kon huffs. “I don't think he'd care?”</p>
<p>Lois presses her lips together.</p>
<p>“You're right,” she says, “we can just get him both.”</p>
<p>It's the final straw.</p>
<p>He's done.</p>
<p>Conner can't do this anymore.</p>
<p>Everyone around him is baby-obsessed and he <em>gets it. He's not Clark and Lois' real kid, he knows it, but</em><em>―</em><em>. </em>God, he misses when it was just the three of them.</p>
<p>Kon flees from the room.</p>
<p>Not for the first time, he cries himself to sleep that night.</p>
<p><em>They haven't even asked him to leave yet and they're already acting like he doesn't matter anymore. </em>Everything is about the baby. The ache in his chest expands. Everyone's acting like Conner isn't enough. Sure, maybe he never really <em>was </em>enough, but it had been easier to pretend before everyone had a second option. Even Ma Kent, who had once fought so fiercely for him, who had once all but demanded Clark let Kon into his life, has stopped asking about his schooling and his hobbies on their monthly visits―the only person she asked after now was the unborn one.</p>
<p>One by one, the days begin to blur. The due date for the baby gets closer. Conner gives Clark a flyer for his school art showcase, already knowing deep down that the man will forget to come. True to form, he does, and Conner, not really wanting to go home, helps Miss Birch clean up.</p>
<p>“I'm sorry your dad didn't come,” Miss Birch says as the two of them are folding tables and putting them away. “He missed a really amazing art project. Your sculpture was incredible.”</p>
<p>Conner resists the urge to inform her that Clark isn't his dad. “Thanks,” he says instead. “I don't even know if my… dad would have liked it. He's never really… been a fan of my art.”</p>
<p>Miss Birch shakes her head. “Nonsense,” she says, matter-of-factly, “I've yet to meet a parent who wasn't inspired by their child's artwork at a showcase. They get this… <em>proud </em>look in their eyes.”</p>
<p>Conner has to assume that Miss Birch has never met a parent who destroyed their child's first sculpture either, but he doesn't say anything more on the subject.</p>
<p>Dusk is falling by the time Kon leaves the school grounds, his backpack slung over his shoulder. On the way home, he drops his sculpture into a roadside trash-can. Part of him just doesn't want to leave it with Clark and Lois when he goes. The thought of little baby Jon one day asking if the kid in the sculpture is him hurts too much to bear. Conner doesn't want to be forgotten, but he would rather be forgotten than erased over.</p>
<p>Clark is waiting for him when he gets home.</p>
<p>“You're late,” he calls absently from the kitchen, the smell of food wafting down the narrow hall.</p>
<p>“I was at the park,” he lies back, depositing his bag.</p>
<p>“I don't know if I like the thought of you being at the park so late,” Clark returns with a frown, dishing up two serves of stir-fry. Conner glances around the room, searching for Lois, which Clark notices and adds: “Lois had to work late. She should be home around nine if you want to say goodnight before bed.”</p>
<p>Kon takes his serve of stir-fry with thanks, and: “Nah, I'm sure she'll just want to relax when she gets home. Tell her I love her, okay?”</p>
<p>Clark acknowledges with a nod. “Will do, champ,” he replies. Conner never does find out if Clark stays true to his word this time.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>It's one month exactly before the baby is due that it finally happens.</p>
<p>Conner has a fight with Clark.</p>
<p>For weeks now he's been oscillating between furious, violent anger and the surging, overwhelming feeling of emptiness. The anger comes easily, without any effort at all.</p>
<p>It is, of course, the baby that sets him off.</p>
<p>“I do wonder how much little Jon is going to look like me,” Clark says with a quiet smile on his lips at dinner one evening. “I'm sure he'll have your nose, Lois, or at least I <em>hope </em>he does.” Turning to Conner, he asks: “what do you think? Lois' nose or mine?”</p>
<p>Kon huffs and drops his spoon into his bowl.</p>
<p>“I don't <em>care </em>about the baby's <em>nose,” </em>he snaps irritably. “I don't care if he's a god damn green <em>Martian, </em>I just want us to have a <em>normal </em>conversation that doesn't involve 'little baby Jon' for once!”</p>
<p>Clark goes swiftly through the motions of baulking, being shocked and then finally around to angry himself.</p>
<p>“Conner, that's no tone to take with someone,” he says, one fist clenched on the table, but with a voice that is overly calm and even, measures of restraint in his words. “Besides, Jon will be here in just over a month. I am allowed to wonder if I wish to do so.”</p>
<p>Conner grunts as he pushes away from the table. “That's all you <em>ever do!”</em></p>
<p>Even Lois looks surprised at the retort. Conner isn't known for arguing, and most certainly not Clark, but Kon can't find it in himself to care about the other man's feelings for once. Maybe the picture of one happy family might continue into the future, but he won't be in the frame.</p>
<p>“All you ever do is talk about <em>Jon!” </em>he continues, decibels rising, pouring out vile, bitter acid off his tongue from his heart. “Jon <em>this</em>, Jon <em>that.”</em></p>
<p>Clark looks confused. “He's our son,” he replies simply, <em>like he thinks Conner doesn't know that? Like he thinks Conner doesn't know that he isn't?</em></p>
<p>Clark doesn't say it, but he doesn't have too.</p>
<p>A sob gets stuck in his throat as it bubbles up and bursts free. The noise sounds rather like a strangled gurgle. Wasting no time, Kon flees from the room before the tears begin to fall.</p>
<p>
  <em>He just can't do this any more.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Playing make-believe is for children.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It's time to grow up and simply face it; the curtains are drawing to a close and his final act is finished. There's no point in waiting on the stage after the applause has died.</em>
</p>
<p>Clark seeks him out after dinner, knocking on his door, asking if everything is okay, but Conner greets him only with cold silence as he stares out his window. The tears have long dried, their tracks down to his chin almost crunchy on his cheeks where the salt has left its remains.</p>
<p>That evening, after the house has gone quiet and Metropolis hums with only the late night traffic, Kon leaves his pre-written note on the table for Clark and Lois to read in the morning.</p>
<p>It's better this way. It's on <em>his </em>terms.</p>
<p>Conner's room looks like the guest bedroom it once was; empty and without the personal touch of someone living in it. It hurts to look at, but there's nothing more to be done. His time here has drawn to a close. It's time to move forward and, most importantly, it's time to let Clark and Lois move forward.</p>
<p>Neither of them truly chose to have him in their lives, at least not in the same way they chose to have baby Jon. It's a stale, well-worn reminder, but it still rings true even after so many years.</p>
<p>The dark halls of The Watchtower open wide their all-encompassing arms as he returns to the place he once thought he'd left behind for good.</p>
<p>Without the energy to do much else, he settles himself on the sofa in the common-room and falls asleep watching the distant stars flicker.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Conner wakes up in the morning, there's nothing but silence. And it terrifies him. For the first fifteen minutes he feels utterly hollow as he continues to stare out at the stars, in much the same way he'd fallen asleep.</p>
<p>He can't stay like that forever though.</p>
<p>Eventually, he makes his way to the showers. He cleans himself, brushes his teeth, washes his face and dresses, readying himself for school. Because just because he's staying somewhere new doesn't mean that he'll skip school.</p>
<p>There's not much in the way of the communal fridge. Batman doesn't send much up to The Watchtower anymore after all. Not since Kon moved out the first time. Just enough long-life supplies to keep The Flash energized if he was ever on emergency Watchtower duty. But that's fine. Conner's not really hungry anyway. He's not been hungry in weeks. The past few months have probably seen him drop a pound, but it's not like he's been weighing himself. Objectively it's probably not good, but he can hardly find it in himself to care.</p>
<p>In the end he eats a bowl of Cap'n Crunch, cracking open the long-life milk in the pantry, and takes a sole muesli bar for lunch. Tonight he'll just pick up some take-away before he comes home, but at some point he'll need to restock the fridge.</p>
<p><em>Ah, </em>he realizes then. <em>I'll need a job. </em>At Lois and Clark's he'd never really wanted for any material possessions. Before the baby, if he needed something―a new art-book, school supplies, heck even just twenty bucks for the arcade on the rare occasion he went with Tim―they were all too happy to supply. But that was when he'd been their… well, not their <em>son, </em>but whatever it was he had meant to them. They probably thought of him as more of a long-term foster kid rather than anything else. And maybe they'd loved him for a brief moment, before the baby surprised them all. But Kon was surer than surety itself that the very <em>moment </em>Jon had been but a couple of cells in the world, Conner took an immediate back-seat.</p>
<p>Well. He's got forty in his wallet and that should do for dinner and a couple groceries.</p>
<p>It's immensely weird to go back to school with his life suddenly up-ended. For the rest of the students, it's just another day.</p>
<p>Any moment he isn't in another class, Conner spends it in Miss Birch's classroom. She's a nice young teacher and Kon likes her, so he asks if she's willing to help him write his first resume.</p>
<p>“I'm not an English teacher, Conner,” she chuckles lightly, pushing her square glasses up the length of her nose, wild black curls tied back into a frizzy bun. “But I'll do my best.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he tells her, omitting the reason why he needs a job and sooner, rather than later.</p>
<p>He prints off a stack of them before the school closes at six, grabs take-away Korean on his way back to The Watchtower and scoffs it all down before he even materializes in space.</p>
<p>It's only once he's back in The Watchtower that a cold loneliness strikes him squarely in the chest.</p>
<p>
  <em>This is his life now.</em>
</p>
<p>No more: “Welcome Home”'s, no hugs, no dinner time chatter. No family movies on holidays. No funny anecdotes after a long day.</p>
<p>Just Kon by himself.</p>
<p><em>Which is probably the way it was meant to be, </em>the dark voice in his head says maliciously.</p>
<p>It's not easy to silence the voice, but he does. Not with anger or rage, like he had been doing. But by retreating into the cold emptiness. Nothing can touch him there. Not even the hurt. It's not a good sign, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it's better than the alternative.</p>
<p>Conner sets about doing his homework. He's not got perfect grades. On earth he'd had more important things to worry about. But now? Now he has all the time in the world to pick up his grades.</p>
<p>Climbing into bed that night is a weird experience.</p>
<p>The bed itself feels way too short.</p>
<p>On his drawers, the Justice League smile at him. And next to him on his bedside table, Conner's favorite framed picture of himself, Clark and Lois, stands tall and proud.</p>
<p>His bottom lip trembles as he pulls the quilt up to his chin.</p>
<p>
  <em>He can't do it.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He'd promised himself no more tears once he made it back to The Watchtower.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But that's not a promise he can keep.</em>
</p>
<p>Conner bawls. Outside, the stars glisten. Their cold light shinning from millions of miles away. They watch on in solidarity as Kon weeps. Louder than he's given himself permission to do so in months; because there's no one here with him. No one can hear the noises that rip out of his throat. That strangle him.</p>
<p>When his energy to cry runs out, he carefully turns the frame until the picture inside is face down.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he whispers to the darkness. “Good night.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>The next day begins much the same as the last. He's up, showered, clean, dressed and packing his lunch while eating his breakfast before he decides to switch on the morning news, cereal bowl in hand.</p>
<p>The segment that greets him nearly has him spitting all the cereal out of his mouth.</p>
<p>“―<em>witnessed all around the world yesterday, with claims of the famous Superman purportedly seen even as far as Beijing. The Metropolian superhero, known widely for his efforts in stopping several life-ending asteroids bound for Earth a few years back, has not been seen outside of the Metropolis-Gotham-Star City area for just over a year now, which has made many nervous and asking: what has prompted this seemingly out-of-nowhere reaction from the Man of Steel. This has been Dianica Joon-Waters reporting for channel two news. Signing off.”</em></p>
<p>Conner decides he can't stomach anymore TV and switches it off.</p>
<p>Briefly he wonders if he should call Tim. If there really was some kind of world-ending event approaching, it wouldn't do for Conner to just be sitting on his butt in The Watchtower. He might be needed.</p>
<p>The internal debate lasts only as long as his cereal does.</p>
<p>After cleaning and washing his dishes before putting them away, Kon reaches for his phone next and discovers it dead. Hurriedly, he makes his way back to his room and plugs it into the charger.</p>
<p>The two minute wait for it to boot-up is excruciatingly slow. He sits perched on his bed, bouncing his knee rapidly, life-ending scenarios pinging around in his head like pinballs. Eventually, though, the screen lights up.</p>
<p>Whipping the phone into his hand at light-speed, Kon's surprised to find over one-hundred missed calls and more than double that in text messages.</p>
<p><em>Oh no. It really is a world-ending scenario. </em>And Conner's just been up here pretending like, what? Like he's a normal kid with a normal life? That's never been true. He was <em>made </em>to stop world-ending situations from occurring, but what has he been doing instead? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Going to <em>school! </em>Trying to pass as a normal, regular student when he's anything but that.</p>
<p>About three quarters of the missed calls and text messages are from Clark and Lois―while the rest are from members of the Teen Titans or their mentors,―but Conner isn't brave enough to open the ones from Clark and Lois just yet. Instead, he scrolls all the way back to the very first message from Tim.</p>
<p>“<em>Kon,” </em>it reads. <em>“Are you okay? Superman just called Batman and he sounded hysterical. I don't know what's going on. Text me back. Okay?”</em></p>
<p>The next few messages after that read similarly, one by one gaining urgency, until:<br/><br/><em>“Conner. Please. Batman just told me that Superman said you'd disappeared! Text me, call me, I don't care. Let me know you're safe!”</em></p>
<p>After that, there's about fifteen more messages in a similar vein, the last one time-stamped to not more than forty minutes ago. Tim's been at it for almost a day. In regular intervals of two hours apart.</p>
<p>Conner feels bad for worrying him.</p>
<p>“<em>I'm okay,” </em>he taps out, then deletes and replaces with: <em>“I'm safe.”</em></p>
<p>Next, he goes through the messages sent by members of the Teen Titans. Their messages read rather the same as Tim's although Cassie's has a hint more hysteria than anyone else's. He shoots them all the same message as Tim.</p>
<p>
  <em>He's safe.</em>
</p>
<p>They don't need to worry about him.</p>
<p>Nobody mentions the world-ending situation in any of their messages, which is rather frustrating. Even more so when, with a sinking feeling in his gut, he realizes he's going to have to open Clark and Lois' messages to figure out what on earth has happened.</p>
<p>The letter he left them swims to the forefront of his mind and Conner pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes and braces himself.</p>
<p><em>Dear Clark and Lois, </em>the letter he'd left them had begun. <em>I don't think I can really say all I want to in this letter. There's just too much to say. But, I'll try to convey what I can.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Firstly, I love you. I always will. You both mean everything to me. I'm going to miss you more than you know, but I think all three of us know it's time I moved over and made space for baby Jon. You three are going to make a wonderful family. I can vouch to Jon that the two of you make wonderful parents.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It's so hard to say goodbye, but I know</em>
  <em>―</em>
  <em>and I think I've always known</em>
  <em>―</em>
  <em>that my time with you was limited. It was nice to be called someone's son. Even just for the short period that it was. I'll never forget all that you've given me, but I know I'm not the son you always wanted. I know I can never truly be your real son.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It's Jon's turn now though. It's time that the two of you get the family you've always wanted. I'll miss you. I love you. There's so much more I want to say, but I don't know if words will ever be enough to say it all.</em>
</p>
<p><em>Thank you for letting me into your lives. Tha</em><em>nk</em><em> you for letting me </em><em>be</em> <em>someone's son. Thank you for everything that you've given me. I will cherish it all, always.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>I love you, now and always,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Conner.</em>
</p>
<p>Upon opening his eyes, he doesn't hesitate. Doesn't give himself a chance to second guess the decision. Quickly, he opens up the stream of messages from Clark and scrolls up to the very top. Right now, he has to put his own personal problems aside. If the world is at stake, Superman will need him. The world will need them.</p>
<p>“<em>Conner,” </em>the very first message reads. <em>“Where are you? Lois and I are worried out of our minds.”</em></p>
<p>The second is similar. <em>“Conner Kent. </em><em>Call me. Now.”</em></p>
<p>The third continues the trend. <em>“Kon. Kiddo, please. I need you to tell me where you are.”</em></p>
<p>On and on the messages go. At no point does Clark ever hint at the world-ending catastrophe hinted at on the news. He switches over to Lois' messages and finds similarly. Many: “Call me please, sweet-heart”'s, but no mention of a situation in which Superboy might be needed.</p>
<p>Once more, he's about to type out that he's safe, the same message to both of them, when a message comes through.</p>
<p>Tim.</p>
<p>“<em>Conner!? Where the heck are you? 'Safe'? What does that mean? Listen, Batman's about one hour from enacting the “Kryptonite” protocol; Superman's gone nuts, man!”</em></p>
<p>Conner frowns.</p>
<p>Clark… Clark is the world ending catastrophe.</p>
<p>He bites his lip. Can he… stop Superman?</p>
<p>“<em>Superman has?” </em>he types back.</p>
<p>The text bubbles pop up in rapid succession.</p>
<p>“<em>Yes. Kon, he started raving about you, begging Batman to find you. Where did you go? Why?”</em></p>
<p>With a sigh, he starts making an attempt at an answer.</p>
<p>“<em>I'm at The Watchtower,” </em>he replies. <em>“And it's a long story.”</em></p>
<p>It's only a moment after he hits send that he hears the Zeta tube start up.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Not the end.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To the ears of a half-kryptonian, the sound of the Zeta tube rematerializing someone into The Watchtower is not a quiet noise. What follows it is even less so.</p>
<p>Kon's ears prick to the sound of two people arguing; only catching the tail end of the conversation, pitched high and distraught.</p>
<p>“―don't <em>know, </em>Lois! I've looked everywhere– <em>hell, </em>I even interrogated Lex like an <em>idiot </em>because I… I thought… I.”</p>
<p>At the sound of Clark's voice, Kon freezes.</p>
<p>There's a noise that sounds like a hiccup, followed by a length of silence that runs up and down Conner's spine like an overzealous percussionist on a marimba that makes no noise. Then, there's another hiccup, followed by another.</p>
<p>At the sound of Lois' voice, he startles.</p>
<p>“I know, <em>honey, </em>I know.” Her voice breaks midway through and a loud thump. It sounds like knees hitting the floor. Conner wasn't expecting… well, he doesn't know what he wasn't expecting. Certainly not… not <em>this.</em></p>
<p>Clark's voice is muffled the second time Kon hears it, as though he has his face smothered in his hands. Conner has to slip over to the door; he leans against the frame, the door itself wide open. From this angle, neither of them can see him. He grabs his Superman Justice League action figure on his way through.</p>
<p>“What if he's <em>hurt, </em>Lo? How could I ever… What good am I as Superman if I can't even be good at <em>Clark Kent? </em>If I can't even be a good <em>father?”</em></p>
<p>Conner curls up against the steel frame, placing Superman beside him and wrapping his arms around his knees and drawing them in tight. He's too afraid to go out there; too scared of what it might mean. Or what it might <em>not.</em></p>
<p>'The Baby' runs rampant in his mind. Are they even really here looking for <em>him? </em>Honestly, Conner doesn't know <em>why </em>they're here. He could guess, but… but wouldn't that be egotistical of him? Presumptuous to just <em>assume </em>they're looking for him? It sounds like they are, but. But he can't be sure. And regardless of all that, the voice in the back of his mind reminds him why he's up here anyway.</p>
<p><em>Conner's moved over. He's made space for baby Jon, for the child they really want. </em>Won't they just accept his last gift? There's really no point in denying the truth: Clark's wanted Jon from the start, Conner was just an unhappy surprise.</p>
<p>For months Clark rejected him. And Conner understood eventually. He understood why Clark couldn't look at him. It wasn't because Conner didn't have that same curl or that masculine jawline. No. It was because Conner was all the parts of Clark that the man tried to hide. Conner was the ugly, upsetting parts. The no-good bits. To make it all worse, he was half Lex Luthor too. Superman's greatest nemesis. A man he'd never met, but never heard anything good about either. A villain of the greatest magnitude. A man who had no qualms stealing Kryptonian DNA and making a half-breed child to one day replace the real thing, like some knock-off to replace the brand-name, only managing to be half as good.</p>
<p>There's a shuffle out in the main room, the noise dragging Kon from his thoughts.</p>
<p>“We're not giving up,” he hears Lois say firmly. The woman grunts and Conner imagines she must've sat down and is now pulling herself tall again. “I don't care if we have to search every corner of this world and the next, we are not giving up.”</p>
<p>Conner curls his fingers into each other, interlocking them. More than anything, the childish part of him wants to scream and shout. He wants to demand to be seen, to be heard. He wants them to know <em>he's here! And he loves them. He loves them more than they know. </em>But still, he bites his tongue.</p>
<p>What. What if they're here out of pity? Or some misguided feeling of responsibility. Conner's certainly not that. He's not their responsibility. He's no ones responsibility but his own. He's known that since the day the Justice League left him up here the first time. Not a single one of them wanted to take responsibility for him, they had lives to live. They didn't want him. Despite their friendliness and fondness towards him, they didn't really want him.</p>
<p>Just like Clark and Lois don't <em>really </em>want him. They're just shouldering the burden. Conner doesn't want that for them. He loves them. He wants them to be happy. He wants them to live their lives. He doesn't want to be a burden. And that's all he's ever been.</p>
<p>The action figure beside him smiles. It smiles that brilliant, warm smile that Conner has seen on TV.</p>
<p>Picking up the doll, he holds it in his palm and stares. More blue paint has come off. Only now is he noticing the nervous habit he has of rubbing the 'S' emblazoned on the figurine's chest. Quickly he stops. He doesn't want to rub the paint there too. It may be one of the only things he'll have of Clark one day. He doesn't want to wreck it now.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, his own butterfingers ruin that thought.</p>
<p>The doll drops from his hand and clatters lightly to the floor. It's not loud enough for a human to hear, but.</p>
<p>“What was that?”</p>
<p>Clark's voice feels like it hits his ears out of nowhere.</p>
<p>Conner sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and then clamps his hands over his mouth, chastising himself for that too.</p>
<p>“What?” says Lois, suddenly alert now as well. “I didn't hear anything.”</p>
<p>But Conner can hear footsteps now. Footsteps click-clacking on the shiny, black, tiled floor of The Watchtower hallway. Another set totter much more unevenly behind.</p>
<p>Kon is on his feet before he even registers doing so. The air in his lungs feels tight, but his breathing is fast and shallow.</p>
<p>They know.</p>
<p>“Clark!” Lois calls, her voice echoing down the reverberant hallway. “Where are you going?”</p>
<p>“This way,” the man replies, sounding grim to Conner's ears.</p>
<p>Slowly, Kon backs up. Inevitably, he hits the wall opposite from the door. His chest is so tight he feels like he can't breathe.</p>
<p>
  <em>They know.</em>
</p>
<p>He tried so hard. He wanted them to have a good life. He wanted them to be <em>happy. </em>And now he's destroyed all that he built.</p>
<p>“Clark, wait―! Where are we <em>going?</em>” Lois voices, her manicured hand visible on the blue suit as Superman rounds the corner and then simply. Stops.</p>
<p>Not a moment later, Lois is blinking at him too.</p>
<p>If it were any other time, maybe it would have been funny to catch the three of them staring at each other like owls blinking away in the darkness. But as it stands, Conner feels only despair and joy. The two conflicting emotions waging war against one another in his rapidly beating chest.</p>
<p>Clark is the first to move.</p>
<p>“Oh my―” is all he manages before he's across the room, two arms around Conner, pulling him in tight, squeezing the life out of him.</p>
<p>Clark falls to the floor and takes Conner with him.</p>
<p>Everything happens in quick, rapid succession.</p>
<p>Clark pulls back, the pair of them on their knees, and studies Conner's face, bringing one giant palm up to thumb at his cheek roughly, like he can't believe Kon is there; is real. Like a man trying to scrub the fake paint off the real piece of art.</p>
<p>Lois is suddenly there too. On her knees. And she shouldn't be. How is she going to get up again? But she is and her arms are around Kon's neck. And she's squeezing him and it doesn't hurt, but he's sure if he wasn't feeling numb down to the bone, like he'd just fallen into a frozen lake, it almost could.</p>
<p>Conner just feels. Like nothing. So numb. In disbelief. <em>They're hugging him. They're crying? And Clark is saying something he can't quite make out. Something he catches only in bits and pieces. </em>And Lois is wiping at her eyes and Clark has that expression, somewhere between wobbly and cracked, revealing the man beneath the exterior.</p>
<p>“―here all along―?”</p>
<p>“―leave us and―”</p>
<p>“―Kiddo, of course we're not―”</p>
<p>“―the baby isn't going to replace you―”</p>
<p>“―you're our <em>son, </em>Conner. Didn't we―”</p>
<p>“―Jon doesn't take―”</p>
<p>The two of them talk over one another and Conner's pretty sure his brain has already short-circuited. Eventually, though, his mouth finally catches up.</p>
<p>“Why,” he begins, to which they both fall silent. “Why are you here?” The words are spoken at barely above a whisper, but they feel louder than a jet engine as he says them.</p>
<p>Lois recoils like she's been slapped in the face.</p>
<p>Clark stares unblinkingly.</p>
<p>“What do you mean <em>'why'…?” </em>she asks, astounded. “Conner, you ran away and left us with <em>that note?! </em>Honey, you're our <em>son!”</em></p>
<p>Clark takes over then.</p>
<p>“Kon, <em>Conner. </em>We're your <em>parents. </em>Son, we love you. That. That <em>letter? </em>Kid, you scared the life out of us both.”</p>
<p>Conner doesn't really know what to say.</p>
<p>“… but… but the baby?” he eventually settles on. “You… you love <em>him. </em>You love him more and… there's not room for the both of us. There's only… there's only the one room and… and I'm. You always wanted a real son.”</p>
<p>Clark pulls a face, although Conner's not entirely sure what it means.</p>
<p>“<em>Conner,” </em>he begins finally, his two hands coming up to grip each of Kon's arms. <em>“You are my real son.”</em></p>
<p>And Kon just cannot help but to curl into himself.</p>
<p>“No,” he whispers, eliciting shock and raised eyebrows from Lois and confusion and a frown from Clark. “I'm not. I'm. Not the kid you wanted. You let me stay because… because I had nowhere else to go. You never asked for me. You <em>want </em>Jon. And I'm just that… that <em>unwanted thing</em> keeping you both from your happiness. I don't want to spoil anything. I know he's. He's everything you always wanted and I'm… I'm. Nothing. I'm a freak. And an abomination. I don't blame you, honestly. I wouldn't want me either.”</p>
<p>Clark's grip tightens. Conner drops his chin to his chest and feels the tears pricking in his eyes.</p>
<p>“You're not an abomination!” he snaps. “You're not! Who the hell said that to you?!”</p>
<p>The first few tears fall just as he lifts his head to meet Clark's eyes. He can barely make out the man through the wetness in his eyes.</p>
<p>He laughs, but it's not a happy sound. He hasn't even the energy to wipe away the tears rolling down his cheeks like a stream after a storm.</p>
<p>“You did.”</p>
<p>Lois blinks.</p>
<p>Clark just freezes. Stunned into silence. Nobody moves, save for Conner who ducks his head once more, embarrassed by his crying. <em>He promised himself no more tears. Look who keeps breaking his own promises.</em></p>
<p>When Clark manages to unstick his tongue from his mouth, he sounds very grave. His fingers dig into Conner's arms infinitesimally tighter.</p>
<p>“Conner, I want you to look and listen to me,” he says seriously, bringing one hand away from Kon's shoulder to curl a finger under his chin. Conner gives way with no resistance, allowing Clark to tip his head easily, meeting the man's pained, deep blue irises.</p>
<p>“I'm sorry,” he apologizes, sincerity plain. “I am <em>so, so </em>sorry. If I. If I could take back every hurtful thing I've ever said to you, I would. If I could replace every painful memory. For every hateful thing I said. For ever making you feel like <em>less. </em>For every time I failed you.</p>
<p>Conner, Jon means so much to Lois and myself, but that doesn't mean we don't love you just as much. You're our <em>kid. </em>Maybe not in blood, but in every way that really counts. You're our <em>family, </em>Conner. We love you. <em>God, we love you so much. </em></p>
<p>And maybe we've… we've not been very attentive parents these past few months. Lord knows <em>I, </em>certainly, could have done better. But, kid, we'd never <em>replace </em>you! You're irreplaceable. You're our Conner. And we love you.”</p>
<p>Beside him, Lois nods emphatically, her lips pressed tight into a white line, her forehead riddled with worry and relief and a great number of other emotions too.</p>
<p>And when Conner looks between them, he sees his whole world.</p>
<p>And it doesn't take very much.</p>
<p>Not much at all.</p>
<p>Only for Clark to gently pull him forward.</p>
<p>Only for Conner to bury his face into the 'S' emblazoned on his chest.</p>
<p>And all the pain of the last few months. The worry, the hurt, the fear. It all comes pouring out in great heaving sobs.</p>
<p>But this time he isn't alone.</p>
<p>Clark holds him. And he holds him tight.</p>
<p>And finally Conner feels like he's allowed to fall apart. Because this time, even if he does, his mom and dad will be there to put him back together.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wrung out and exhausted from crying, Conner falls asleep in his dad's arms and wakes up with his head on his mom's lap.</p>
<p>For a minute, his location eludes him―because<em> this isn't The Watchtower, there's no morning, midday or afternoon… </em>and then it hits him like a baseball bat to the head. He's at home. Exactly, how he got from point A to point B is a mystery, though he could certainly hedge a few good guesses.</p>
<p>Above him, Lois is talking, the vibrations running through her whole body. Kon keeps his breathing even, not to give away the fact that he is now awake, and tunes into the conversation.</p>
<p>A large hand runs over his head. Fingers smoothing down the flyaways. It's a gentle touch. The couch dips a moment later. Clark is incredibly gentle with how he manipulates Conner's feet into his own lap.</p>
<p>“―is a good idea,” Lois is saying, her own fingers carding through his hair now. “As a family too.”</p>
<p>Clark makes a noise not dissimilar to a hum. “I called Dinah,” he begins. “She thinks we need to address this in a professional setting.”</p>
<p>“We do,” Lois agrees firmly. “Conner isn't just some ordinary kid. The way he was brought into this world and the subsequent trauma that followed isn't something we can pretend never happened. It's not something we can just wash over. We thought we <em>could. </em>We thought we were helping him by <em>moving on </em>from that part of his life, but it's obviously done more damage than either of us realised.”</p>
<p>Clark is quiet for a moment. The room seems to grow cold in the wake of that silence.</p>
<p>“I know,” he sighs finally, little words under his breath. He's upset. More upset than Conner has heard him in a long time. “… and I can't do that again, Lo. I can't lose him like that again, I―.”</p>
<p>“I understand,” Lois returns. Conner feels her shift, arm reaching over to Clark, to console. “I feel the same way. I'm his parent too. This is just as much on me as it is on you.”</p>
<p>It's only when Lois' hand returns to his hair that Kon gives himself away, flinching at the unexpected contact. The jig is up.</p>
<p>Clark is scooting across faster than the speed of light. A hand on his arm. “Hey there kiddo,” he begins warmly, face swimming into vision as Conner blinks open his eyes. They feel swollen and grainy.</p>
<p>“How are you feeling?” Lois pipes up. “You sure did a lot of crying.” After helping him sit up, a cool glass of water gets pressed into his hands. “Drink that,” she orders. “You need to hydrate.”</p>
<p>Conner barely glances at it before downing the whole thing as ordered.</p>
<p>The glass disappears and a bracing arm wends its way around his shoulders. Clark radiates heat like the sun itself.</p>
<p>For a minute, he says nothing at all. Merely opens and closes his mouth several times before a prompting, pointy elbow from Lois spills words out into the aether.</p>
<p>“Conner,” he starts, then stalls. “Conner, I. Think we need to talk.”</p>
<p>Kon wilts in his seat. Shriveling up like a dried prune, trying to make himself as small as possible; less of a target, if only so Clark's words-like-bullets won't hit. Kon tries to reassure himself, to calm himself, but those four little words make his bones feel brittle and his skin thin as paper.</p>
<p>It's not something the other man misses.</p>
<p>Clark sighs next to him, the action rustling the top of his hair like wind through leafy branches of a tree. The one arm curled around his shoulders squeezes a little tighter. It's weird sitting like this, but Kon's strangely grateful his doesn't have to look the other man in the face as he speaks.</p>
<p>“It's nothing bad,” he says then, jostling Conner just slightly as he gives another short squeeze of reassurance. “I promise.”</p>
<p>It still doesn't feel particularly reaffirming.</p>
<p>Conner shuts his eyes tightly until he's seeing stars behind his eyelids. The inside of his stomach has an infestation of wasps, rather than butterflies. He feels ill. <em>He's scared.</em></p>
<p>“I think we need to talk about… what happened.”</p>
<p>Clark stops. Stalls again. Kon offers nothing in return. He feels small and insignificant in front of Clark. He always has. He wonders if that will ever change. The silence drags long enough that, eventually, his eyes flutter open to see the tail of Clark shaking his head, obviously unsure of what to say or how to phrase it. That, in itself, is oddly soothing.</p>
<p>“I called Dinah earlier, after you fell asleep,” he begins somewhat anew, a new line of thought, his tone still soft. “I thought she… could help me understand… well. Everything, I suppose. Maybe I was just hoping she'd have some good advice for me, given her profession. And… she did.”</p>
<p>Clark takes a deep breath and huffs it all out again. Lois finds his hand and Conner grips it, trying not to squeeze it too tightly as he waits baitedly.</p>
<p>“I want you to be happy here, Kon. I want you to know you'll always be a part of this family. You'll always be able to come to me when you need to. To get angry, to yell. To be sad. Too…” Clark's sentence trails off.</p>
<p>Lois picks it up for him. “To tell us how you're feeling, Kon,” she says. Her hand dips into her pocket and out of it she pulls a small flier. It's the flier to his school art show. With one hand she smoothes out the folding lines, though she speaks to it rather than Conner; an admission riddled with guilt: “And to tell us when we've been especially terrible parents.”</p>
<p>Clark nods. “We're… new at this, Conner,” he carries on, a face full of lines and worries. An expression never seen by those he saves as Superman. There's so much regret and guilt and upset. “That's no excuse, I know,” he adds. “But we're… we're going to try harder Conner. I swear. You deserve so much more.”</p>
<p>The tell-tale pricking in the back of Kon's eyes makes him want to cover his face in shame and humiliation, but Lois has one hand and the other is jammed hard between his knees to stop himself from shaking. In the end, he's left with no choice but to allow the hot tears to start up again. Conner isn't sure the last time he cried this much.</p>
<p>When it cracks and eventually comes out, his voice sounds tinny and shallow.</p>
<p>“You're not a bad parents,” he sniffles softly, eyes dropping to where his fingers are entwined with Lois' own. “I just didn't think you wanted <em>me, </em>because… I know I'm… not the kid you asked for.”</p>
<p>Clark is quick to counter. “I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world, Conner, because you're my <em>son. </em>Just as much as Jon is. What happened between us in the past, I… I can't take that back. As much as I want to, I can't. But… but if I had known then what I knew now. I would have done everything differently. I would have been a father to you from the start.”</p>
<p>The fingers digging into his upper shoulder readjust themselves as Clark swallows roughly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he chances a glance over top of Kon's head, making eye-contact with Lois before diverting his gaze back down again. Conner is pinned in his spot by two piercingly blue and sincere eyes.</p>
<p>“Kiddo,” he almost whispers, much slower than before, and suddenly Clark is the soloist in an orchestra and Conner is the only one in the audience. “Lois and I love you very much. We do and we always will.</p>
<p>When we woke up to find you missing… and that <em>note.</em> Well, I'll be the first to admit I panicked. I thought I <em>knew </em>the sound of your heart-beat. I thought I knew the sound of your voice, but when faced with the possibility of never finding you I… I got so scared, Conner.</p>
<p>I want to work toward being a better father to you. A better father <em>for </em>you. I want that more than anything. You're so precious to us, Kon. You were the most unexpected surprise in my life, but I could not have asked for a better one.”</p>
<p>Numb to the core, save for the pin pricks tingling in the ends of his toes and fingers, Conner feels like what he imagines a chunk of ice must feel all the time.</p>
<p>Clark can't love him the same as Jon. It just doesn't make any sense… and yet. Yet here the man sits before him, stating it like fact. Like it's the <em>truth. </em>Like Clark really does regret words spoken and actions taken that cannot be take back. Like the past haunts him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Is this Clark trying? Making an effort for his sake.</em>
</p>
<p>“I want,” he says, the words catching in his throat on the way out, cracking and crackling like radio static. “I want you to be my parents. That's… all I've <em>ever </em>wanted. I just wanted you to love me as much as I love you.”</p>
<p>Lois smiles at him.</p>
<p>Clark squeezes his shoulder once more.</p>
<p>“We love you, Conner,” Clark says, softly, only warmth in his tone. “And I promise you, we always will.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading all!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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